He stopped and produced a small vial of coke from his blazer pocket, feeling on balance pretty good about the limitless opportunities of this new morning. On balance all this goddamn pussyfooting was against his genetic disposition, and if there was any lesson to be taken from his lineage it was that history’s great murderer of clarity was always other people. Jacob Godfrey once said that the one thing that others could be reliably depended to provide was gastrointestinal distress, and this had never been so poignant to Roman before now. But it was a Godfrey who had built this town, so it was only fitting that it would be a Godfrey to save it from itself. He didn’t need them. They could suck each other’s dicks. He didn’t need anyone. He did a bump into each nostril and wiped his nose. The sun glinted off the side of the Tower and he found himself fixating on it, the light pulling itself to the center of his mind’s eye as shadow found the fringes … He shook his head. Not now.
